


Dark Divine

by kalewrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky gets revenge, Explicit Smut, F/M, Feels, Hydra are dickbags, Overprotective Bucky, Smut, Violence, roughish sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalewrites/pseuds/kalewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get injured on a mission. Bucky can't handle it. He reacts, badly, and resorts to the only thing he knows. Revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Divine

It was supposed to be a simple recon mission, straightforward surveillance on Hydra sympathizers and their movements, which is why it was only you and Nat. You're not sure where it went so wrong, how it got so...complicated. You're fading in and out, mind grasping at the edges of consciousness as pain ricocheted through your body. You hastily pat yourself, seeking out your comms device, feeling the dampness of your t-shirt as it sticks to your fingers. Your hand comes away from you, thick wet and red, the metallic scent stinging your nose as your brain catches up. A fresh swell of panic pushes up from your chest and you fight to keep your breaths even. Darkness pulls at the corners of your vision, a thick blackness seeping out and robbing you of the last shred of awareness as you pass out. 

\----

Your mind is heavy, each thought just out of reach of comprehension. Your floating, head bobbing in a quick step-step motion, water gripping you tight as it keeps you above it. 

Water? 

You will yourself to remember something, anything, of where you are. It filters through in tiny punched snippets, Natasha, a mission, you were ambushed oh- you weren't floating. 

Someone was carrying you. 

Faint voices float through the silence, distorted slightly like they’re under water. You can’t tell what they are saying, but you can recognize the panic in them.

Gentle feathery touches slip down your face, your named whispered in desperate murmurs against your skin. 

“Y/N- Y/N, hey, sweetheart. You're gonna be okay.” His voice is thick, but even through your haze you feel a little jolt of relief that he’s here. You try to say his name but your tongue is fat and awkward in your mouth, taking up too much space as your mouth fights to make shapes. What escapes is more of a groan than a word. Your body is shifted, and you're pulled tight against a chest.

“I got you, Y/N. I got you.” You feel the beginnings of his footsteps before everything goes dark again. 

\----

Bucky glances down at you as he sprints through the corridors, taking in your battered body so small in his arms. Small. He knew you’d hate that, even if it were true. A white hot rage pierced his gut as he took in the wound in your stomach, still slowly leaking blood, and the bruises forming over half of your face. A black soulless feeling grew with each step, pushing out from his gut and through his body until it seeped into his very soul. 

He would kill them. He would kill every last one of them for this.

“How is she?” Steve asks

“I don’t fucking know Steve, they won’t tell me anything.” Bucky bites out each word as he paces, pushing a hand through his hair and then down his face, “I- shit Steve, she needs to be okay, I need her to be okay…”

“Hey, Buck, she’ll be fine. This is Y/N we’re talking about. She’s a fighter.” He lays a hand on Bucky's shoulder trying to offer his friend some comfort. “Let me go talk to them, see if I can get anything okay?”

Bucky nods as Steve heads off in search of your Doctor.

\---

Bucky sits, head in his hands, as he replays it over in his head. A sickening slideshow of Clint appearing with your body hanging lifeless in his arms, a beaten but still standing Natasha beside him. It flickers between that and when the Doctors whisked you away, doors swinging behind them as they rushed you into a treatment room. The back and forth squeak of them a haunting soundtrack to his pain. 

“Buck.”

Bucky shoots to his feet at Steve’s voice

“Buck, she’s gonna be okay. She lost a lot of blood, but her injuries aren't too serious. Y/N is gonna be fine.” 

Bucky sags in relief, a torrent of emotions whirlwind through him before finally settling in a furious black-rage as his relief takes a back seat. It expands from his chest, hotthick like lava slipping through his veins until it's all he is, and all he has. 

\--

Your eyes are heavy, body sluggish as you rouse from your sleep. You open your eyes slowly, eyebrows pulling tight as you adjust to the light in the room. Glancing around you realise you aren't in your room where you expected to be. Bland lifeless white walls stare right back at you. 

A hospital room maybe?

“Hey, you’re awake.” The familiar dense tone sets you on an edge, somewhere between warmth and wary, knowing that tone means he’s almost broken. And a broken Bucky is dangerous. 

“B-buck-k-y…” Your voice is scratchy, throat dry a clear indicator that you’ve been out longer than you first guessed. 

“I’m here, doll.” His tone soothing, he brushes stray strands of hair from your face as he brings a waiting glass of water to your lips. You gladly accept the straw he's pointing towards you, gulping down the water hastily enough you have to pause for breath. The coolness soothes your throat a little, but it aches enough to hint at tubes and that sets you a little on edge. 

“How long was I out?”

“About a day? Maybe it’s been two?” He links his fingers with yours, lips ghosting over your knuckles. 

“You don't seem sure” 

He laughs a little at your tone, even in your hospital bed post near-death you're still a handful, “Haven't exactly been keeping track…” 

His eyes drag up to meet yours, the undercurrent of pain making them darker than their normal blueish-grey. You see the muscle at his jawline jump and twitch as he works to contain the rage you know is burning a path through him. 

You know where this is heading.

“Bucky, stay with me?” You whisper

“Of course, Doll.” You know it's a lie before he even says it but you both pretend it's the truth. Layering yourselves in false smiles and pretty words to keep the pain from each other.

\--

After a day, you're allowed to go home. Back to your apartment within the compound, the one you shared with Bucky. Your wound was healing fast thanks to Dr Cho’s nano-molecular technology. Skin knitting together was the easy part, the bruises littering your body, not so much. 

Bucky takes you home, half carrying you there despite your protests. You ignore the jittery energy that radiates off him, ignore the way his hands tremble a little as they reach for you, fingers lingering cupped on your neck or wrapped around your wrists. 

He lies facing you in bed that night, the backs of his knuckles dragging over your skin. You slip a hand round his neck and tug a little, he scoots forward til his forehead is pressed against yours. Tilting your head up you close the gap between you, lips brushing against his in a soft glance of a kiss. He’s still against you, unmoving, no hint of a feeling except for the slight tightening of his fingers against your ribs. You brush against him, once, twice, before you feel him push forward with his mouth, deepening the kiss with a tilt of his mouth. He tastes of toothpaste and just a hint of darkness. Your body hums in response, heat building despite the aches and pains of the last few days. A pitchy little sigh escapes you and Bucky drags his lips from yours, breaths coming a little faster now, a little harsher. His eyes are open and staring when you catch them, haunted with an edge of fire.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” You whisper, afraid he’ll deny it, never really believing he’ll agree. A silence stretches out between you, his eyes squeeze shut and for a beat you think he’s not going to answer you at all. 

“Yes, I do.” His tone suggests there’s a very evident end to this conversation. A big fat Full-Stop, leaving no room to argue, not that you will. Your you, he’s him. This thing between you engulfed you both, full mouthed and deep, and there’s only one way for him. One solid course of action, a plan, ingrained bone-deep in him. 

\----

You hand meets empty air when you go to hug him the next morning. Peering out of one eye, your suspicions are confirmed when you see the empty space beside you. A pit opens up inside you chasing all other thoughts from you.

You quickly pull on some sweats, mindful of your still healing side and general aches still coursing through you. Was that really just a few days ago? Damn Dr Cho is a genious. 

Searching around you eventually find your phone plugged in to your charger, Bucky having put it there the night before. You send out a quick text to Steve

Stevie, where’s Buck?

Almost instantly you get a response.

You know where Y/N

The pit in your stomach deepens. 

Did he at least take anyone with him?

He took me.

You sigh a little in relief, knowing that Steve was with him gave you a little comfort. He would make sure nothing happened. Forever the voice of reason. 

The next two days are long. Longer than when you were bleeding to death on the dirt covered floors of a back alley Hydra base. Every one visits you, Nat the most, and no one mentions him. Not once. Everyone dancing around the subject like hot coals, faces pulled tight whenever you say his name. Helen makes you do two more sessions in the Cradle, until she's 100% sure you have no more wounds or even a scraped knee at this point. Your body is healed, a dramatic recovery in the normal sense, but given your resources it was normal for you. For the Avengers.

Two days, you sit and you wait. Each noise in the apartment setting your heart off galloping into the distance before snapping back to you when it’s just the creak of a door or the boiler kicking in. Two days.

\----

Bucky stands in the darkened room, head hung low, chest heaving. He’s still trembling, adrenaline come-down hitting him hard. Bodies lie around him, fanning out from him in a morbid death circle, the blood making the floor tacky. His eyes scan each of them, ensuring none are still breathing and upon finding none the firey rage in him quietens considerably. 

Steve stands in the corner gripping the elbows of the last man standing. He propels him forward, kicking his legs away from him so that he’s forced to his knees in front of Bucky. Bucky grips him with his metal arm.

“Who told you she was coming?” Bucky all but growls

“Fuck you.” The man spits at him. Bucky’s fingers work their way to his throat and squeeze. 

“Who told you she was coming?”

The man laughs, “You really think I’ll tell you?”

“I know you will.”

Steve leaves the room, shutting the door behind him as he goes but it doesn't mask the screams being ripped from the man. Each one pulling a grimace from Steve despite himself. 

\--

On the third day, night, you're sleeping, or at least you're trying to. Restless and fitful, you coast on the surface of sleep, never fully dipping under. The sound of the apartment door closing snaps you awake instantly. Your heart hopes but head worries so you creep out of bed, pulling all of your training to the front of your brain. A gun is slipped into your hand automatically pulled from your nightstand, the heavy weight of it in your hand a calming anchor. The door to your bedroom is whipped open and you take aim, planting both feet firmly. 

Bucky stands there, eyes wide and hands by his sides. His clothes are stained with patches of dark brownish-red, speckled up the side of his neck and face. His face is laden with guilt. You stare at each other, gun raised, hands poised, before the tension ebbs. You flip your safety on and drop the gun, pushing yourself forward and meeting Bucky halfway as he scoops you up, mouth finding yours easy and carries you back towards the bed. You hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer still as your legs wrap around him. The baggy t-shirt of his you are wearing rides up, the scratchy feel of his pants cuts into your inner thighs. His mouth blazes a trail down your neck, sucking marks as he goes before soothing them with his tongue. His fingers find their way under the shirt, gripping at your ribs before grazing the skin where your wound had been. He pulls back abruptly, yanking the t-shirt up so he can inspect the area. His fingers trail over the healed skin and he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Helen.” You say by way of explanation.

He rolls his hips against you pulling a throaty gasp from you. His body covers yours again, lips close to your ear, “And you? You’re...okay?”

“M’good. Fuck- I’m fine. Clean bill’n all that.” It’s a struggle to get the words out, his lips and hips working against you making you hum. 

“I- I can’t be- easy. I need you too much.” He murmurs against the underside of your jaw. 

“Please...” You whine, body already straining for him. You need this, this physical connection with him. 

His hands work the t-shirt off you, leaving you bare to him. He sits back on his haunches, eyes dark and hungry as he looks you over. He trails his knuckles up your legs, stopping just at the curve of your ass. He yanks his shirt off, buttons flying and material ripping. It's discarded behind him, he doesn't take his eyes from you. 

The hard lines of muscle are decorated with scars, each one another reason why he wears that haunted look sometimes, or wakes in the night cold sweat and trembling. More noticeable is the fresh bruises, the slight beaten look his skin has, evidence of where he’s been the last two days. His fingers slide upwards leaving goosebumps, following the contours of your body before reaching the soft swell of your breasts. His thumbs brush against you gently, so gently, before he takes them into his hands, letting the weight of them settle into has palms. One hand rough and warm, the other smooth and cold and just a bit careful. 

There’s a stretch of time where the air is gentle, careful and you pull your lip between your teeth, fighting back a moan at the feel of him on you, then just like that it snaps, fizzles, and he’s everywhere. His fingers dance over your nipples, pulling at them until you are writhering under hand, pushing yourself further into his hands. His metal arm hits the bed beside your head, his body now covering yours and lips trailing down your jawline. 

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his flesh hand never ceasing its work on you, before nipping at your jaw and neck. He thrusts against you, the pleasure mixing with pain in a delicious burn that settles deep in your gut. His hand travels lower, dancing along the junction before dipping into you, testing the wetness. His fingers slide against you easy, your body ready for him after the first touch. He thrusts two fingers into you pulling a sharp pitchy moan from you, pumping them into you roughly, he leaves no time to adjust to the feel. He presses the heel of his hand against you, rubbing just enough to have you rocking against him while his lips and teeth suck and mark your neck. The heat of his mouth fans over your nipple before enveloping it, swirling his tongue around the tip before sucking harshly. Your back arches of the bed, following his mouth. It's too much and yet not enough. He’s playing your body like a specially honed instrument, made especially for him. 

The hand by your head disappears in your hair, tangling in the tresses and gripping them tight in his fist. He growls against your chest, “F-fuck, I can’t wait.”

You use your legs to pull him closer, and he takes that as his answer to the unspoken question. Removing his hand from you, he yanks open the zipper of his pants and thrusts inside you, never stopping till he’s fully seated inside you. His grip in your hair tightens and the combination has moans erupting from you, Bucky mirroring them as his hips snap forward, setting a bruising pace. The material of his pants bite the backs of your thighs adding another layer to the sensations working your body. 

Your hands grip the sheets as pleasure erupts, curling from your stomach to the ends of your fingers and further, expanding out into the room, mixing with the heat and saltiness of the air. 

The sounds of skin on skin collide with the moans and gasps creating a slick soundtrack that you almost want to keep. Bucky's hitting you hard and fast, pushing you further into oblivion and you know it won’t be long. Little fuckfuckshit’s fall from his lips eliciting the same in you. 

His hand releases your hair and trails down the side of your neck before settling its weight there, gripping in the crook just under your jaw. The small possessive pressure, fingers pressed into delicate skin, as his eyes blaze with that undiluted heat. He twists his hips a little, and the angle changes hitting you just right, his pelvis brushing against your clit with each furious thrust. 

The air crackles around you as you reach that final crest, your orgasm rushing at your from all sides, filling you up and pushing a frantic chorus of buckybucky from your mouth. Bucky pounds into you a few more times before arching up against you as he finds his own release. The growl he emits is sexy as shit and should be illegal. 

You clutch at him, chests heaving and a faint buzzing in your ears, as you fight to control your breathing. He covers your mouth with his, the kiss softer; less tense. His eyes find yours and you see some of the tension has eased from them. He pulls a towel from somewhere, and pulls out of you whilst covering you with it. He flops down beside you and buries his head in your neck as he pulls you close. 

There's an easy silence between you, sated and weightless. You run a hand through his hair in a soothing gesture. 

“I killed them. I killed them all.” He whispers against your skin, a confession for only you. 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request on Tumblr, and one I enjoyed writing. Hope you guys like it. I listened to American Money by Borns whilst writing it.


End file.
